


Never for a Second

by ShirleyCarlton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Scones, Sherlock's POV, post-Mary, post-S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock resolves to be nicer to John, but John, naturally, is sceptical of his intentions. That is, until Sherlock blurts out he’s in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never for a Second

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful and patient betas [Mydogwatson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/) and [Gingerhermit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingerhermit/pseuds/Gingerhermit/) for their feedback and suggestions and also to my friend Amber for Brit-picking!

John was not in a good mood. Sherlock could tell the instant he walked into the flat and saw John sitting at the kitchen table. He seemed to be annoyed with the person who wrote the newspaper article he was reading, which indicated he was still in the same general state of disgruntlement he’d been in for the past few days – or weeks even.  
Well, all the more reason for him to be extra happy with the things Sherlock had bought for him, Sherlock told himself cheerfully.

He casually eyed John, while putting down the carrier bag to shrug off his coat. Sherlock had become aware that John’s patience and goodwill with Sherlock’s eccentricities had been wearing thin lately, and he’d realised that it wouldn’t hurt to demonstrate that he cared (which was actually a gross understatement) more frequently than once every two years, as had been his modus operandi so far. Caring was not an advantage, but seeing as his feelings for John ran deeper than the Atlantic by this time anyway, there was no longer really any point in obfuscating them. Mrs. Hudson had even been so bold as to outright _order_ him to stop being his usual distant self, stating that John – being the emotional wreck that he’d been ever since the divorce – needed a friendly face, more than anything.

In addition to the fact that the gesture at hand was a sop to placate John and quench any inclinations towards finding a new place of his own, it was also, indirectly, in accordance with their new Pact of Honesty (which had been John’s condition of his moving back in with Sherlock). _Look John, I’ve brought you your favourite snack because I care about you and want to cheer you up._

Sherlock walked over to the kitchen and stood next to where John was sitting. He took the items out of the bag, placing them in front of John on the table: scones from John’s favourite bakery across town, with his preferred brands of clotted cream and strawberry jam from Sainsbury’s to go with them. “For you.”

After a brief glance at the offerings, John turned his head to look up at Sherlock with a blank stare. “What’s this?”

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “I guess I was just trying to be nice,” he said quietly, attempting a casual smile.

“Nice,” John repeated flatly. “You usually have a very specific reason to be ‘nice’. So what’s the occasion, if you don’t mind my asking.”  
The amount of sarcasm in John’s voice could have frozen over a small tropical country.

Sherlock felt a vague, unpleasant sensation in his stomach, as if he were about to be sick. Wasn’t it ironic that John doubted what he meant to Sherlock, while Sherlock was certain no one had ever loved another person more ardently than he did John. Of course, John had every reason to be suspicious of Sherlock’s intentions, especially concerning unexpectedly offered food items. Sherlock had not always been able to resist opportunities to test the physical effects of medically uncharacterised substances by slipping them into John’s dinner. The great paradox was that he had only been able to do those things because John trusted him – and because John trusted him, Sherlock loved him.

If John only knew.

One of Sherlock’s earliest memories suddenly found reason to come drifting out of his mind palace: his old bedroom floor covered with shards of eyepiece glass, with his culpable elbow hovering frozen in mid-air above the alarmingly glittering tableau, as hope of ever being able to use his beloved microscope again seeped away like blood from a dying man. Broken beyond repair. Hoping against hope that things could still be fixed.

Sherlock took in a breath.

Honesty.

According to several sources, it was the magical solution to all interpersonal problems.

“John, I might as well tell you. I’m in love with you. I have been from the very beginning. And I can’t bear the thought of you ever leaving.” He said it all matter-of-factly, thinking that this explanation would surely satisfy John and convince him of the sincerity of his motives; thereby serving as adequate compensation for his general ambiguously interpretable aloof behaviour.

There was a short silence, during which Sherlock tried to swallow a couple of times, to no avail, seeing as his mouth was suddenly inexplicably dry. His eyes, for some reason, refused to focus on John and he didn’t have the willpower to do anything about it, so he looked at random patches of kitchen table while he thought of what to say next. He should probably explain. “Mrs. Hudson suggested I stop trying to hide my feelings all the time, from you at least, anyway, and…”

When he caught a glimpse of John from the corner of his eyes, Sherlock’s gut clenched. The look on John’s face was one of complete shock. _Why_ had Sherlock thought this idea, of all people’s ludicrous suggestions that Sherlock usually didn’t even come _close_ to considering, was one that he should indeed act upon? While Sherlock never shied away from startling, annoying or otherwise baffling John – always inwardly chuckling at John’s surprised facial expressions – being the cause of utter shock, however, was something he had only done a handful of times and invariably regretted instantly. As he did now.

He could kick himself.

And then, to Sherlock’s astonishment, John pushed his chair backwards, stood up, grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders and kissed him.

This wasn’t right. What in heaven’s name was John thinking? Was this some kind of practical joke, meant as revenge for saying something foolish like this?  
Startled, Sherlock quickly pushed John away, holding him at arm’s length and stammering, “John, what on earth are you doing? Why are you kissing me?”

John looked at Sherlock with a not entirely unfamiliar exasperation. “Why do you think, you git?” His voice sounded strangled.

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity, during which Sherlock’s mind was eerily blank, like a machine built of cogwheels ground to a halt by something that had gotten stuck between the moving parts.

“It turns out,” John said quietly, “that apparently, I’m not the only one who’s been in love with his flatmate since the day we met.” Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he added, “And in that case, I would say we have rather a lot of kissing to catch up on, wouldn’t you?” John’s voice had become increasingly raw and uneven, but his eyes didn’t waver. His mouth, meanwhile, struggled into a crooked smile.

“You are _in love_ with me?” Sherlock said, vaguely realising he was paradoxically making it sound as if it was the filthiest thing he had ever heard. He had simply never for a second considered the possibility that these feelings were _mutual_. “But… but you’re straight.”

John chuckled, strangely conflicted. “I… pretty much stopped being straight the minute I walked into Bart’s lab that day,” he said slowly, nodding to himself.

The ability of Sherlock’s senses to function normally seemed to have evaporated. Every bone in his body felt different, his eyes prickled and there was a strange pounding in his ears. He could do nothing but gaze at John, whose soft grey-brown eyes just stared back at him, patient, waiting for him to process it all, while obviously also still assessing the situation himself – clearly still somewhat on his guard.

As soon as the cogwheels in his head started turning again, hundreds of slots subsequently clicked into place – like loose ends suddenly connected – and he saw the entire last five years in a different light, making it clear as day that he had been making a wealth of wrong assumptions the whole time he’d known John. It was like unexpectedly landing on a different planet.

“I must be hallucinating,” Sherlock muttered faintly – not entirely serious, but those were the only words that would come. In spite of everything, it was still a scenario he could not dismiss entirely.

“No you’re not. Come here,” John smiled tentatively, gently reaching with his hands for Sherlock’s face and guiding it closer to his own.

Sherlock cautiously let him. This was not a joke. John was dead serious.

_John wanted to kiss him._

John then very carefully pressed the softest of kisses to the corner of Sherlock’s lips. “God, I love you Sherlock,” he whispered, letting go. “But I never thought you could love me back.”

Sherlock frowned intensely, barely holding it together. He had one of those ridiculous lumps in his throat that he’d forgotten could be real, but he didn’t care. “John, I jumped off that building for _you_. I spent those entire two years doing everything I did, for _you_ , and thinking about nothing but _you_ , _every day_. The thought of _you_ pulled me through those horrible months.” There was a pause, in which he couldn’t help but blink uncontrollably. “I _lived_ for _you_.”

John swallowed hard, then fervently pulled Sherlock close to him, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck, while his fingers clutched Sherlock’s back. “Christ, Sherlock,” he panted.

Sherlock hesitantly put his arms around him. “John, please tell me this is real. Will you… be mine?”

“Oh god, yes,” John exclaimed, his words muffled by Sherlock’s collar. He pulled back to look at Sherlock, then pressed their lips together, before pulling back once more. “God, yes, I will. Always have been,” he added lightly. “We just didn’t know it.”

Another brush of lips.

“We were idiots,” Sherlock breathed.

“We were. Not just me, it seems.”

Sherlock let out a half-giggle in spite of himself and rested his forehead against John’s. “Please, forgive me, John, for being the biggest idiot in the entire hemisphere.”

“I will, if you kiss me properly.”

After that, neither of them spoke for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> After I wrote this, I realised that the central plot of this fic is actually a bit similar to a previous one I wrote ([The Ending Of Friendship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1761247)), but I guess I just like to write situations where they’re both baffled by each other’s feelings. :)


End file.
